


Danger Close

by B_Radley



Series: Becoming Fulcrum [15]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the pain of Steela Gerrera's death on Onderon. Ahsoka Tano tries to come to terms with her part in the rebel's death.</p><p>Takes place between the Onderon arc and the Umbara arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Close

**Author's Note:**

> Danger Close is an artillery term. It means that you are calling artillery fire on yourself or within 600 meters.
> 
> Mature for adult situations, including two people finding comfort with each other in wartime. Both are young, but have been fighting for two years.

**Medical Transport**  
**En route for Coruscant from Onderon**

  
Ahsoka Tano stands in the hold of the medical ship. A medical ship taking her from what should have been her great triumph as a Padawan. A successful insurgency, without the guidance of her Master and Master Kenobi. Choices made that saved a world from the Separatists.

She feels none of that. Her entire being is hollow. Her mind's eye is encapsulated by the look of terror on a young woman's face just beyond her fingertips. A look given as she falls to her death. A look given because Ahsoka lost focus. The sound of the rebel's body crashing to the ground with a sickening....

The Padawan of the Hero without Fear, who has faced so many trials, and learned innumerable lessons during her two years in this war, couldn't save one life during the triumphant final battle for Onderon.

Steela Gerrera. The face and the heart of the Onderon insurgency. A skilled warrior, a daring, strong leader. A growing friend to a young Jedi on her own on a planet that she had to balance the wishes of the Republic and the Jedi Council, with her own feelings of wanting to help the rebels more openly. Loving sister to Saw, a more impulsive, less thoughtful fighter, with a violent streak that led the rebellion and the King to pick Steela over him.

Her competitor for the what? Affection? Love? Lust? of Lux Bonteri, erstwhile Senator of Onderon and complicated relationship. She shakes her head. No. She had chosen her path as a Jedi. She had wished Lux well and given him encouragement to pursue his feelings for Steela.

 _Purpose before feelings,_ as her Master reinforced.

The feelings that include this hollow loss, as well as the painful reminder of a small artillery round that by rights should have killed her. The remaining twinges remind her of her failure. As a Jedi. As a protector. As a friend.

She had spent the night in a bacta tank, as her shoulder slowly began to heal after the wound and the ad hoc medical treatment it had received. The stay in bacta had healed her shoulder, but had trapped her in an endless loop of Steela's death during the night. She had come out of the bacta; her heart rate exploding. The medical droid had nearly kept her overnight because of the this anomaly. She had convinced the droid and the chief medical officer that she was fine. They had begrudgingly allowed her to move to her regular quarters.

Obi-wan and Anakin had put her on this medical transport that would take a leisurely two weeks to get back to Coruscant; they had recognized what she had gone through as they had seen her sadness at Steela's memorial.

 _I'm being coddled. I am not a little girl,_ she thinks uncharitably. She closes her eyes and centers herself. _You certainly just acted like one._

The one positive of her slow boat to Coruscant was that Barriss Offee, her friend and fellow Padawan was on the same boat, returning from an assignment to a Republic Medical and Surgical Center as a healer. They shared quarters, which would have ordinarily led to talking and a bit of laughter to relieve the dark emotions that both of them were burdened with in this war.

Barriss more so than Ahsoka. The pain that Ahsoka had felt from her friend the last time they had seen each other and spent time together had been oppressive. Barriss' peaceful and healing nature had been tested by the violence and death of a full-scale galactic war. It had been Ahsoka who had comforted her during their short time together before heading back to the death and destruction - the cauldron of war.

Within a year of the start of their friendship; their time together, which could be counted on the fingers of one hand, had grown - different.

It had started with a kiss. A simple touching of lips one night while lying in their shared quarters. The kiss had morphed into a desperate melange of touches and deeper kisses, until Barriss had risen from the pallet and locked the door. Without a word, they had smiled at one another shyly, and removed their clothing and had fallen into each other's clumsy, unskilled light.

Now, two years after they had been trapped in that tank as a weapons factory exploded above them, the time that they had spent in each other's arms had only increased by one half of a hand.

That had not happened yet on this trip. _I am being too much of a bitch to her; unable to do more than snipe and snarl at her._

Ahsoka was surprised that Barriss had not moved out of their shared quarters, instead staying with her, and monitoring the progress of her wound, changing her dressing, and had patiently endured her vitriol.

All things that Ahsoka had never had to do when Barriss was feeling the darkness. Ahsoka had merely had to hold her as she sobbed in the pain of the darkness. Hold her while she cried and hold her while their mouths and fingers brought that light.

Ahsoka stood there in the cargo bay, as she shook her head to clear the image. To focus on something besides Barriss' eyes as she came undone.

Lying on the catwalk above, is a mannequin. A mannequin that approximates the weight of a human being. She climbs up to the catwalk. She ignores the residual pain in her shoulder, made slightly worse by the climb. She closes her eyes; she clears her mind's eye of Steela's face. She pushes a button on a small device on her belt. She hears a whirring noise behind her. She pushes the mannequin from the catwalk and focuses on it with the Force. She allows it to drop almost to the floor and catches it with her mind. She slowly lifts the mannequin up to the catwalk. She slips one hand down and pushes the button again; quickly bringing her hand up to pull the mannequin to the walk.

The training remote behind her fires the stun blast directly into her back. She gasps as she feels the pain lance through her being, running down her back, as well as across her shoulder to the healing wound.

The mannequin drops to the deck. The pain was nowhere near the pure agony that the secondary weapon of the tank had subjected her to. She falls to her knees, her eyes closing. She waits for the numbing pain to subside. She brings the mannequin back up to the catwalk and resets.

She takes a deep breath, centering herself. She kicks the mannequin over, and catches it. The remote fires, lancing into her back. The mannequin drops. She again drops to her knees.

Twenty minutes later, the mannequin continues to drop. She can feel an oozing wetness from newly raised blisters on the previously healed wound. She can barely move her shoulders. She is no closer to stopping the mannequin from dropping.

Her eyes blur, as she prepares to stand again and lift the mannequin to the catwalk. As she reaches one knee, she feels a feather light touch on an undamaged spot on her shoulder. She falls back to both knees and sobs. She, who is undemonstrative in her grief, is racked. She hears a Core accent whisper 'Shhh....'

She looks up into a pair of impossibly blue eyes that mirror her own. Olive green skin, with black tattoos below the eyes. Eyes filled with compassion, as she takes Ahsoka into her arms and lifts her to her feet. They walk down the catwalk to the end and down the stairs. They hear the whirring of the remote as it comes towards them.

Barriss effortlessly raises a hand and smashes the remote to the deck. Ahsoka Smirks as they walk out of the cargo hold.

The mannequin lies on the deck.

Barriss takes the Togruta to their shared quarters. She places Ahsoka on a bunk and turns her away from her. She brings a small medkit next to her. She kicks off her shoes and kneels to take Ahsoka's boots off.

She brings herself back to Ahsoka's back and removes her top. She tries not to gasp as she sees the bruises, the reddened skin, turned from its customary orange, and the slight bleeding from the original wound. She removes the bacta pads from the kit and treats every individual blemish on the young woman's back. She can feel the intake of breath, as the cooling bacta soothes.

She feels the cooler temperature of Ahsoka's back on her hands, through her gloves. Ahsoka's sobs have stopped. Barriss can feel the Togruta' heartbeat slowing. She finishes her ministrations and tapes a bacta pad in place over the old wound.

No words pass between them. Barriss touches her lips to Ahsoka's neck and then moves to the center lek. She hears Ahsoka's intake of breath and feels her heartbeat starting to rise again. She hisses as Barriss stops. Ahsoka starts to turn, but Barriss puts her hand on her shoulder to stop her.

The Mirialan removes her own top. She moves her arms around Ahsoka's front, resting her chest on Ahsoka's bare back. She returns her lips to the blue and white lek. The blue runs the spectrum of blues from dark to electric, as Ahsoka moves against Barriss. She can hear soft cries coming from the Togruta as skin touches skin.

Barriss' hand moves towards Ahsoka's leggings. Ahsoka stops her hand; they both rise and bare themselves to each other. Their touches and kisses heal, as for a change, Barriss comforts Ahsoka. Her healer. Their cries lance the darkness with the light, as their fingers find each other's core and the light cleanses their hearts.

For a brief time.

Later, Ahsoka snores lightly in Barriss' arms. Barriss looks out through the port at the chaos of hyperspace.

Her eyes slowly close to the rhythm of Ahsoka's breathing.

The next day, a warrior stands on the deck of a cargo hold on a Republic medical transport. She lifts a large mannequin with one mind and one hand. Her healer stands to the side, watching her, as her other hand holds a lightsaber to deflect the shots of a small targeting remote.

The mannequin is steady as she steadily deflects the stun bolts.

The healer smiles as the warrior shouts her triumph to the overheads.

All is right.

For a brief time.


End file.
